Amnesia
by Katseester
Summary: Meet Roxas. Blonde, sarcastic, and can't even remember his own name. Enter Axel. Annoying, persistent, and won't leave Roxas alone. Underneath his cheery exterior, however, is the reason to Roxas' amnesia, and he's not so willing to give it up.
1. Day One: Hello, New and Confusing World!

**Mmk. This idea was floating around in my head and wouldn't leave me alone, and it even haunted my dreams. No lie. That being said, it's been on my computer for the better part of two months, I having never really completed it (this chapter at least) until tonight. **

**Just a small warning, the rating is T right now, but it _may_ go up next chapter due to the language...and other things...**

**On a small side note, I'm sorry if I offend you. In any way. This fic actually brings out the sarcastic side in me, which has been emerging more and more frequently. So, many of the comments are in fact the creation of my overly-sarcastic mind at the moment...and my friends also laughed when they read it, saying it was "funny."**

**The first word (right under here) is in fact _not_ the title (even though the title _is_ Amnesia...). It's part of the story.**

* * *

Amnesia. 

Diagnosed with amnesia.

That's what he said. That man in the white coat with the slicked back hair and the clipboard. Yes, him, over there in the corner, talking ever-so-quietly with that slutty-looking nurse.

But that's not the point. The point is, I have bloody-fucking amnesia. Yes, you heard right. But the problem is, I don't know what _kind_ I have. Like that fucking matters. But apparently it does, because that's all that he's been ranting about, saying things like he's not sure if it's traumatic or dissociative or whatever. Stupid things like that. Things I don't give a shit about.

Oh great. Now he's done talking with the slutty nurse, and he's walking towards me. I wonder what other useless things he's going to tell me. Maybe now it will be "I'm sorry, but instead of amnesia, you have cancer. Sorry. Only half a month left to live, sonny!"

Bastard.

So now he's talking. Like I care what he's saying. Something about Alzheimer's at an early age? Whatever. Can't be worse than not remembering your own bloody name.

Which, strangely enough, I really can't remember.

"So remember, with amnesia, you have a chance of getting your memories back. But be thankful you're not like poor old Mrs. Skeggs over there." He points to an old bat walking around in a nightgown and bunny slippers. "Poor thing will never remember her own son's name." Well, at least she can remember her _own_ name. Not like me, and my stupid fucking case of amnesia, where I woke up in a stupid white hospital room that smelled like fucking baby powder. Oh no, poor old _Mrs.-fucking-Skeggs_ over there has it bad, ranting about her lost cat, who probably died five years ago. Crazy woman.

"Just be happy you don't have Alzheimer's."

Sure. Happy. Yeah. Great. At least now I only have to worry about living the rest of my life, forgetting important stuff like my name. And where I live. Great. Another issue to add to my already fucked up life.

"So basically, you might get your memories back one by one or all at once, so don't panic if you get a headache from it all."

Oh, yeah, like I'm really gonna panic over a headache. What I _should_ be worrying about is the fact that I don't remember anything. At all. Like, everything is gone. Blank. Nothing in my head.

This is just _fucking_ great.

"Do you have any questions?"

Yeah, I have a question. Are you even a certified doctor?

Instead I say something completely different.

"Am I going to die?" Right. Greatest question _ever_. I know I'm not going to die...

He looks at me like I'm crazy. Which I probably am. But that doesn't bother me, because I can't remember if I ever did any crazy things. Probably did.

But, considering I'm wearing a white _dress_ and I'm talking to a guy who's possibly a manwhore, I don't see how I _can't_ be crazy.

"No, you won't die."

Oh, so he finally managed to answer my rhetorical question. Congratulations.

"No, actually…where are my clothes?" I ask. I hope to any god out there that I wasn't some sort of transvestite. I swear, if he even _thinks_ about pulling out a pair of fishnets, I will kill him. With this bed sheet. Yes, you heard right. My lack of possible weapons makes me feel oddly vulnerable.

"They'll be delivered to you at the end of the day. Then you can leave."

_Then_ I can leave? I don't think this guy understands that I _don't_ want to be here. Like, I think I'll shoot myself if I have to look at these white walls longer than I have to.

"Listen here," I say, hoping to sound intimidating, "I don't want to be here. You know I don't want to be here. So, I'll just make things easy for you. Give me my clothes, and I'll be on my way."

Once again, he looks at me like I'm crazy.

"That's all very well," he starts off slowly, "but, unfortunately, there's the…erm…issue of your hospital bill."

Now it's my turn to look at him like he's gone off the deep end.

Great. Just _fucking_ great. Now, on top of my stupid case of amnesia, I have a hospital bill.

"You're kidding me, right?"

* * *

So, eventually, after many persuasions and threats, here I am, blinking in the sunlight and wearing normal clothes that don't make me look like a pre-pubescent schoolgirl. 

Apparently I live at 69 The Crescent, apartment number XIII. Or at least that's what Mr. Greasylocks said.

See, normally this wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that he seemed to have forgotten for a moment that I have fucking amnesia, and I don't remember where the hell The Crescent is. Stupid idiot.

I wander the streets for a bit, looking for any _clue_ that The Crescent might be around. Too bad I'm too stubborn to just ask for directions.

A few people try to stop me, calling out a few words, a girl with hair the shade of sunshine (as if that's actually a shade. Pfft.), a boy with messy brown locks that seemed to defy gravity. But I turn away and ignore them, pushing down a feeling of impeding guilt. Hey, it's not my fault that I can't remember who they are…right?

I put my head down, shoving my hands in my pockets, and push through the crowd, hoping that they don't follow.

I'm walking so fast that when I run unto something—something tall and black—I fall on my ass. Great.

My hands immediately feel like they're on fire, and my wrist hurts like a bitch. Damn. Stupid reaction. If I had been aware I was going to fall, I would've kept my hands at my side, shoved in my pockets. But _no_, I didn't know anything about it—just like the rest of my fucked up life—and so my hands shot back to break my fall. Goddamnit.

What a stupid, _stupid_ natural reaction. Now my wrist is all messed up, and my hands feel like they've been shoved through a blender.

God, today sucks.

I look up, mouth open furiously, about to bitch this guy—or object—into hell. But then I see his face—because it is, in fact, a person I ran into—and all foul words in my throat are stuck there.

He's tall. No, scratch that. He's, like, fucking what's-his-face, that guy who died from a foot infection. Tallest man in the world. Whatever. And apart from that, he looks like he's been malnourished for his entire life.

And _how_ exactly can I remember that a tall person died from a foot infection?

Yeah. I have no idea either.

How the hell can I remember that when I can't even remember my own Goddamn name? And why the hell didn't that stupid doctor _tell_ me?

I wonder how much I can sue him for.

But that's not important right now. What's important is the fact that I'm on my ass, my hands are totally fucked, and I can't seem to talk, much less bitch, and the guy who knocked me down looks like he's wearing _eyeliner_.

I guess he could be called handsome, but there's no way in _hell_ I would admit that. 'Cause I'm straight. Totally. Like a ruler. Damn straight.

But I can't help but see that he _is_ good looking. If I swung that way, which I _don't_.

He has intense green eyes, and a flaming red halo of hair outlines his face. He should tie it back. Or something. Keep it out of his face. Because it's—

No way in _hell_ am I going down that road.

--_hott_.

Oh God. Shoot me now. Please.

What intrigues me most about his face though, are the tattoos on his cheekbones, like small diamonds stretching down over his cheekbones. Who the _hell_ would get a tattoo on their face?

I hope it hurt. Alot. Only because because of him, I'm on my ass. With fucked up hands.

Which leads back to the problem at hand.

What I expected to see when I looked at his face was for him to mutter a small apology and move on, but I'm wrong. Instead of seeing a slightly embarrassed, closed face, I see on of pure shock. Like, "ohmigawd I just killed my best friend" kind of shock. Maybe not so dramatic, but the concept is the same.

This guy is looking at me like he's committed the hugest crime, and I'm a victim that's supposed to be dead, but I'm not. It's kind of creeping me out.

You could say a staring contest ensues. My blue eyes glare furiously into his dark green eyes. Bastard.

Finally he breaks the awkward moment, opening his mouth.

"R…Roxas?" He breathes, as if all thought of air has left his lungs.

"Huh?" Is my genius reply. Who the hell is Roxas? Is it me? Is that my name? Has a guy I've never even met just supplied me with something that a _fully certified doctor_ didn't?

Oh, the irony. The sweet, sweet irony. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"You're awake?"

Well, yeah, I am, considering I'm sitting in front of him on the ground.

I nod uncertainly, wondering if this guy is some crazy psycho that broke out of an asylum.

Suddenly he's crouching beside me. "Oh, geez. Roxas," he says, bringing his hand up to his forehead, "I'm…you…I started to think…" he trails off.

"Listen…" I begin, starting to stand up. I don't get very far. As soon as I place my palms on the sidewalk, they start to burn again, and pain shoots up my arm. I involuntarily groan.

He leans closer to me, his face looking shocked again.

"Roxas. Are you hurt?" He asks, as if my scraped palms and swollen wrist aren't right there in front of him.

"Well, gee, I don't really know," I say, frustration boiling up in me. "Considering I can't stand up because of these." I shove my hands in his face to emphasize my point.

"Oh, wow, Rox, sorry. Didn't mean to do that."

By the way he's flinging my name around, I would guess that I used to know him. Too bad. I'm not interested in talking to him right now.

"Listen. Just…help me up, and I'll be on my way." To find The Crescent. I'm starting to wonder if it even _exists_.

"Oh—what? Oh, c'mon, Rox. You can't just leave on me! I mean, I've been worried!" He impedes my attempts to stand as I struggle against his hands.

"_You_'ve been worried?" I snort, "Over what? I don't even know you, and you know my name. I've got a hospital bill to pay, and I don't even know where I live, and you can just _shove off_ because I have bigger problems in my life. Amnesia. Did you hear that? Amnesia! Now let go of me, so I can get on with finding the stupid fucking Crescent."

His hands are off me like I have some contagious disease and he stares at me, long and hard.

"What?" I snap, finally getting annoyed.

"You…you don't remember me." I can tell by the tone of his voice that he finally understands that I don't know him, at least not any more. His eyes are dark now, nothing like the green I saw earlier.

And for some reason, my gut is wrenched apart at the dejection in his voice.

Not for the first time this day, I wish I could remember.

"No," I say, ignoring the fact that he wasn't waiting for an answer.

He grabs my arms and pulls me into a standing position, the momentum throwing me into his chest. I pull away almost immediately, wincing at the pain in my hands.

"So, Rox, you need to find The Crescent, huh?"

I ignore his fake cheery voice and brush past him, determined to leave him there and continue in my search.

I walk about two steps and then it clicks in my brain. If he helps me, I get to my apartment faster, and I can remember everything faster, and I can get on with my life faster. It's brilliant.

I whirl around and face him, glaring at his chest. Shifting my gaze to his face, I can't help but ask,

"What's your name?" My voice is low and hesitant.

He looks puzzled at my sudden change in attitude, and then breaks out in a smile.

"Axel," he says, "got it memorized?" He grins cheekily at me.

"Sure…" I mutter, walking up to him.

"You honestly don't remember, huh Rox?" He asks.

"No. I don't," I answer, suddenly feeling lost. This man, he could be anyone. He talks to me like he would an old friend, but for all I know, he could be a rapist trying to lead me into a dark alley to rape me.

Oh, to hell with that.

"So, Axel," I start, trying out his name. It feels distinctly familiar. "Where did you say my apartment was?"

"Why, it's right this way, Roxy," he answers, grabbing my arm and dragging me alongside him, a teasing smile on his lips.

_Roxy_?

"Call me that again and you will not live another day," I grind out.

"Oh, Roxy, I never knew you cared!"

"_Fuck _and _you_, buddy," I hiss, getting more and more annoyed.

I'm almost horrified to see that when he grins in that cat-like manner, my heart rate picks up.

"Whatever you say Roxy, whatever you say."

* * *

**I realized as soon as I wrote this that Mrs. Skeggs is an english teacher in my school. Whoops. So...I'm sorry about that. **

**I _do_ realize that the doctor was extremely idiotic. For once I actually researched a bit before writing this, cause I didn't have the faintest idea what the types of amnesia are. So, he _should've_ known what type of amnesia, but, as I said, he's a stupid doctor.**

**Oh, and where I live, The Crescent is actually a street name. No joke. It's right near the Armouries actually...**

**So, next chapter (as I mentioned above) I might change the rating because of the language and other things. That you shall not know about. Until I post it. And you read it. Hahaha.**

**I do realize that as soon as I post something, I read it over and only _then_ do I find the mistakes in my grammar, wording, spelling, etc. So, if you see anything, please please _please_ let me know. I'd really appreciate it.**

**On that note, review :D it makes me happy and fuzzy on the inside**


	2. Day Two: Can this get any weirder?

AN: I am a terrible person. I'm a horrible procrastinator and almost wrote this chapter about a year ago when Xarn (who used to be LaJauntez but alas it was not meant to be) tried to kick my ass into doing it. But then I didn't. And I am sorry. It's been almost three years now, and hopefully you (if you're still watching for this, which I doubt you are) will forgive me. I've tried to write it in the same style as I did, but I can't guarantee anything and if it's not to your liking, then I am, once again, sorry. Time has passed; I have changed. My style has changed. Hopefully this won't put you off.

The rating has risen because of language, and there _will_ be more descriptive scenes later on, that I can assure you.

That said, please enjoy!

* * *

_The only sounds penetrating the night are the sharp gasps and soft moans emitted by the two boys in the very messy room on the creaky single bed. With every thrust the bed creaks, the boy gasps - "Axel, Axel, Axelaxelaxel!" - and Axel, poised above him, hisses through his teeth to bite off a moan._

_Their breaths hitch, their hands roam, their eyes flutter and clench shut, their mouths open to gasp, moan, scream each other's names into the silence._

_Axel kisses the other boy as they finish. Long and hard, and then soft and gentle._

_And then everything disappears.

* * *

_

_Two bodies lay entwined on a creaky single bed, sheets and clothing strewn across the room in a very haphazard manner._

_The one is tall, lanky, and his red hair is more frazzled than ever. The other is short, thin, and his face is flushed a healthy crimson._

_"You know, you're pretty cute like that. All flustered and red-cheeked."_

_"Shut up."_

_"And you've got that glow around you. You know, the 'I've just lost my virginity' glow. Damn, it looks good on you."_

_A sigh, and the boy curls himself closer to his companion.

* * *

_

I'm about an inch away from thrashing the idiot pounding on my door. _This_ close.

Of course, I have more pressing matters at hand.

Like having a dream—or was it a memory?—about having sex with Axel.

Of_ all_ the people in the world, why _him_?

Oh, God _damn_ if I'm not going to kill whoever's at my door, though.

Slowly, pained by the task of moving, I crawl out of bed, stumble through my apartment and throw open the door.

Axel's face greets me, eyeliner and all.

"Hey there, Rox—"

I slam the door shut.

Or, at least, I attempt to. Axel somehow worms his head between door and frame and acts as a stopper.

The resounding crack sounds painful. I sincerely hope it is.

"Ouch! Geez, Roxas, you don't have to be so violent."

Perhaps it's because of, er, certain _images_ invading my thoughts, but the sight of Axel rubbing his forehead, face contorted in pain, makes me shift uncomfortably and look away. I try to pass it off as fleeting guilt. It doesn't work.

Well, fuck.

"Aren't you going to get me an ice pack or something?" Axel asks, sounding choked.

"Why?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Do you _have_ to ask? You just slammed a _door_ on my head!"

"Only because you were in the way," I reply, nonchalant.

We stand there, him by the door, rubbing his head, me on the other side of the couch, crossing my arms and uncrossing them uncomfortably, until the silence is almost unbearable.

"Look," I say, hoping my irritation leaks through my voice and he'll just _go away_. "What do you want?"

Axel grins, and his face nearly splits in two from the sheer size of it. He approaches me, head injury apparently forgotten, and doesn't stop until he's a mere foot away. "I want ice cream. And so you do."

I take a step back. "No I don't," I say, refusing to look at him, afraid that if I do I'll remember just _what_ he looks like when he's about to—

My face flushes crimson and I turn away.

"Of course you do," he says, invading my personal space and grabbing my arm, attempting to drag me towards the door. "That's your 'I'm craving ice cream' face. Your body is practically _begging _for it."

"No!" I shout, and wrench my arm free. I almost regret the loss of contact, so I turn to glare at him, defiant. "I don't want ice cream. Not with you. _Especially_ not with you."

His face falls, and an unexpectedly real wave a guilt washes over me. "If I don't know where I'm going. I don't want to go if I don't know where I'm going." Traitorous mouth.

He grins again, and his eyes remind me of an over-exuberant child's on Christmas morning. "Scoops."

"Excuse me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"It's a quaint little place downtown. We used to go there all the time," he explains. "It might help you to, I dunno, remember something?" He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to act nonchalant, but I can see right through it. He's dying to go.

I sigh, and can feel a headache coming on.

"Fine. Just lead the way."

He laughs, triumphant (and it's not a nice sound, not at _all_, so stop looking at me like that), and grabs my arm again, dragging me out of my apartment, barely pausing to close the door.

* * *

The ice cream place is nice enough. It has friendly employees who mind their business and make my ice cream without a word. The tables are small and round, giving us privacy, though with Axel that's not necessarily a good thing, as he's chosen one in the back corner.

"Chocolate?" Axel, says, when we're both seated. "Boring." He laughs, and I have to remind myself that it doesn't sound nice. Not at all. So stop asking.

"Yeah, and what kind of flavor is _sea salt_?" I retort, starting on my cone.

Axel looks at me strangely, like he's not sure what to think. Then he stares at his ice cream for a bit as I delve into mine further.

"It's melting," I say, eying the liquid running over his fingers.

"Oh," he says, like he hadn't even noticed. I suppose he hadn't. "Yeah." He starts to eat it, licking it tentatively at first, like it might hurt him. He makes a face.

"Hey, Rox?" He asks, staring at the stick again.

"Hmm." I'm too busy eating to tell him to—

"_Stop calling me that. It makes me sound like a girl."_

"_But you're my princess!"_

"—Try some?" Axel is holding out his ice cream to me, looking hopeful.

I stutter for a moment, just staring at the stick of ice cream dumbly, before realizing what he was asking. I take the stick, and Axel looks at me expectantly. I notice that against his pale skin, his eyes are very green. And they're looking at me like I should be doing something.

I shake my head, remembering the ice cream in my hand, _sea salt, gross_, and that it's melting all over my fingers, so I take a lick.

It's a strange taste; salty, but not overly so, with a sweet aftertaste that washes away the bitterness.

"It's…good," I say, surprised. "Really good." I eat some more.

"Hey, hey," Axel laughs, trying to grab it back. "Don't eat all of it, you pig!"

I stop mid-bite, looking at him through my lashes. He intakes a breath sharply, lowering his hands to the table and looking away. I can see a faint flush on his face, so I relinquish the ice cream, frowning.

"Thanks," he murmurs, distracted.

We finish our ice cream silently, and when I chance a glance at Axel, he's looking out the window like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Finally, he licks the last of it off his fingers (_don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlookohshit—_) and turns his green (very green, I remind myself, then feel like smacking him) eyes on me and my flushed face.

"So, my place or yours?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows at me. I choke on the air and turn an even brighter red.

"Th-the _fuck_?" I stutter, looking at him incredulously.

He laughs. "Geez, Rox, what kind of mind do you have?" He laughs for a bit more while I sit fuming. "I want to show you something, so my house."

* * *

I'm only slightly surprised when we turn up in front of my apartment building.

"Let me guess," I deadpan. "You live here."

"Yeah," Axel says, scratching his head. "How did you know?"

I stare at him, not sure whether he's joking or not, not daring to think why he would joke about something so_ stupid_, when he laughs again and rubs his nose.

Axel's apartment is essentially the same as mine; same shape, same colour, same _smell_. I try not to be a little creeped out by this.

"Coffee? Tea? Juice?" He asks while making his way to the kitchen.

"N-nothing," I answer, a little unnerved by how threadbare his apartment is.

Axel reappears and ushers me to the couch, the only piece of furniture in the room. I notice that he's carrying two glasses instead of one, and frown.

"I said I didn't want anything," I mutter, but take the offered glass anyways. Orange juice.

We sit in silence, and I'm almost horrified to say that it's comfortable. The few times I chance a look at Axel, his eyes are closed and he appears to be thinking deeply. I can't think for the life of me what of.

After a length of time, in which my glass is slowly depleted of juice, I open my mouth.

"Axel?"

His eyes snap open and focus on me lazily. "Hmm?"

"Tell me about…me. What I was doing. Before all this." I feel stupid saying it, but Axel doesn't laugh. He just blinks in surprise, and then smiles wistfully.

"You were a handful," he starts, and I start to protest, but he cuts me off. "Lemme finish, will you? You were a handful, but I dealt with you because you were my friend. Because I liked you. Still like you."

His words make me uncomfortable, but I keep my silence, turning the empty glass in my hands.

"You were done highschool, about to go to college. You wanted to be a psychologist."

I snort in disbelief, and Axel gives me a look that makes me feel like I did something wrong.

"I'm old enough to be in college right now," I say after a while, trying to make him stop looking at me like that, staring at the glass. "So why didn't I go?"

"Ah," Axel says, and he shifts uncomfortably on the couch, refusing to meet my eyes. "Well," he scratches his head. "You were _going_ to, but then…there was an accident." He looks away, but I can see how his eyes shut and he takes in a shuddering breath. "It put you in the hospital."

"Oh." I try not to let his expression bother me. "What kind of accident?"

Axel takes another shuddering breath and turns his too-green eyes on me. They're not at all like I've seen before, giving me a look that is saying more than his words. "I can't tell you, Roxas. I'm sorry. I just…can't."

His use of my full name is what brings me up short on what to say, startles me into speechlessness.

"Axel…" I reach towards him, not sure why, not sure what I can do to make him tell me. He's not looking at me anymore, so I drop my hand back to my lap, feeling foolish.

"Pictures," he says, after a length. "Look at some pictures while I bring these to the kitchen. Might jog your memory, or something."

I'm about to tell him that I don't want to look at any Godforsaken pictures he might have of me, but he's plucked the glass out of my hand and pointed me to a desk near the door.

Against my better judgment, I approach the desk and look through the drawers until I find a small photo album. Flipping through it idly, I can't help but feel intrigued by this seeming stranger, the one with my face. He's smiling and laughing in some, making silly faces in others. One photo in particular stands out to me; Axel and I are sharing a bowl of ice cream (I can only imagine that it's _sea salt_) while sitting (rather close) on a couch. Axel's arm is slung over me in casual ambiance, and to my horrified shock, I see my hand peeking out from around his waist.

I close the book after that. I don't want to see anymore. I don't want to look at something I'm not. Not anymore.

It's only when Axel returns that I realize that he's been in the kitchen for far too long.

"Hey, Rox," he says shakily, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are folded across his chest almost defensively, as if he thinks I'm suddenly going to go batshit insane and attack him. "Did you like the pictures?" His eyes are darting around the apartment, like he's seeing it for the first time and it's not to his liking.

"Y-yeah," I reply, equally as shaky. "Are you okay? You're looking kind of—"

"It's getting a bit late, don't you think?" He cuts me off, not moving from his spot. I glance at the clock. 4:15 "You better go and get some shut-eye. Y'know, can't be too careful and all that stuff…" He starts laughing a bit, a hysterical force of voice, but it soon trails off into nothing.

I return to my own apartment and do normal, Axel-free things. I eat. I watch TV for a bit. I try not to think about today. Not the ice cream, not Axel's eyes, not his apartment, not the pictures, not his sketchy mood. The one thing my mind keeps returning to, however, is Axel. Just axel. His hair (it really should be tied back, or it'll start to get in his face and make him look more insane), his stupid tattoos, his mouth, how it turns up in a wicked grin when he thinks he's being clever. His eyes, that told me more than he did, expressed feelings that I know he was trying to hold back. That bore into me, like they were looking for something that wasn't there. That made me feel like he was inspecting me, naked, under a burning light.

"It's not possible," I tell myself as I change for the night. "He's just a friend. _Was _just a friend." I'm not so sure myself, now, and I can hear it in my voice.

* * *

_Two boys—or rather, a young man and teenager—are deposited cozily on a couch. The young man with flaming hair, Axel, holds the teenager, Roxas, in his lap, resting his head atop Roxas'. The glare of the TV shines on their faces, illuminating their features with a ghoulish luminosity__._

"_This is a crappy movie," Roxas states, reaching up to tangle his right hand in Axel's hair. Axel hums his agreement, securing his arms around Roxas' waist more tightly._

_Axel clearly has other plans in mind, as his hands soon begin to wander, rubbing faint circles across Roxas' abdomen, and he leans down to kiss behind Roxas' left ear. Roxas fidgets a bit, trying to swat away Axel's hands, before giving up. He turns slightly Axel's lap, and taking Axel's face with both hands, pulls him down and brushes his lips against the older man's. Then, turning about to straddle Axel, he kisses him properly, grinding himself as close to him as possible. Axel groans approval, taking Roxas' hips and pulling him closer, then sliding his hands to Roxas' belt buckle, fumbling to undo it—

* * *

_

I start awake, sitting bolt upright, heart pounding, breath labored, mind racing. I'm drenched with sweat, and my eyes dart around my room, looking for something familiar to focus on. Of course I don't find anything, and through the confusion realize that I have a rather painful erection.

"Shit," I say, loudly. "Shit!" And I lie back down, rolling onto my side, curling up into a ball, ignoring the tightness around my groin. "_Shit_." Tears are leaking from my eyes, and I don't know _why_, but goddammit, I can't stop them.

* * *

AN: Alors, here we have it...after almost three years. The next chapter, of which I will hopefully write the following chapter for. Apologies once again, for those of you who may still be watching for this.


End file.
